


Echoing Ripples

by Twilight_PhoenixFyre



Series: Before the Guardians [5]
Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: (Yes I am still terrible at tags), At least one of them worked it out in the end, Dante has issues, Dark has issues, Gen, Koran Rests in Peace, Natalia is an angel, Ripples side-story/back-story/intermission/thing, Ryndor... what are you even...?, Tags will be added/updated as new short stories are added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilight_PhoenixFyre/pseuds/Twilight_PhoenixFyre
Summary: A collection of backstories written for Ripples characters who are either non-canon (original), or who died canonically but lived (at least for a while) in Ripples. It's a wicked mess, don't even expect it to be anything else. (But my characters are a wicked mess, so really...)Black Stars (Dark Daemione) - posted 11/24/2019
Relationships: Dante Daemione & Kallig, Dark Daemione & Koran, Dark Daemione/Natalia Luzu Kimlasca-Lanvaldear
Series: Before the Guardians [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/565687





	1. Black Stars - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.  
> I only just got a new job.  
> And Dante's lingering in my head after an extended vacation, so I'm hoping to be able to get back to work on Lights again soon. Except I have a Tales of Big Bang that I have two stories to finish for by the end of January, so... I'll see y'all whenever I see you. (Pst, one of them I've been advertising on my profile for ages. Lost Souls is finally going up in February, guys!)  
> This little thing, however, is about a year old now and has just been sitting on my computer collecting dust since last NaNo when I needed 15k words to finish my goal of 100k for the month. (This then fell about 170 words short, and I had to go write something else. Go figure, Dark's actually as much of a pain in the ass as his original.)  
> First chapter takes place... ah... -has to stop and go check numbers, because it's been ages since she touched Ripples- About five years after the end of the Main Arcs of An Echo through Time. There's stuff mentioned in here that comes up in Lights and which hasn't been posted yet, so... mild spoilers, I guess? -shrugs- Enjoy.

Mismatched eyes looked out over the city as the snow drifted down from the sky. A thin layer already white-washed the scene, smoke and steam from hundreds of chimneys making the forest beyond the city's edge impossible to see naturally. The man was sitting on the roof of a manor that still felt like too much, wearing a uniform he still thought was stifling.

The Marques of Belkend was still trying to wrap his head around _that_ title, if he was being honest with himself. The rank of Colonel was a lot easier to bear, being as he'd held it for six and half years, after all.

And now, as the first snow of the season drifted down from the heavens, he found himself about to take on a new title—father.

Dark Daemione was going to become a father, a long fourteen months after his marriage to the former princess of Kimlasca, and, sitting on the roof in the falling snow, he felt rather numb.

The anticipation, the excitement, the love, the awe, it all fought with fear, and anger, and a sense of foreboding. In a rather typical assassin's move, he'd taken all of the conflicting emotions and shoved them down.

"You know, when the midwives told you to stay out of the way, I don't think they meant for you to hide out on the roof in this snow."

The voice was unexpected, but not unwelcome, and Dark looked over at his adoptive father, watching silently as the auburn-haired man sat down, heavy Order uniform supplemented by a thick cloak. Ryndor looked like he'd gotten a decade of his life back after everything had settled down, but given how old he'd been looking before, that left him looking his age at thirty-four.

"I do actually _like_ snow, you know," Dark said softly. As if the fact that his mindscape was just as much snow and ice as anything else wasn't a good indicator.

"Guess that's a good thing. You wouldn't have survived all those years outside Keterburg if you didn't."

Dark sighed. He didn't like thinking about those days. Back when he was doing everything in his power just to survive, when Danté was a regular threat to his life.

Back when he had no one to depend on except for Koran.

"I shoulda kept my mouth shut, huh?"

Dark glanced over at Ryndor, rather amused by the tone of voice the older man had used. "Probably," he agreed.

"Hard to believe I'm about to be a grandfather."

"Is it scary that you're younger than Jade was when he became a father the first time?" he asked. After all, here sat Ryndor, not quite thirty-five yet, and Jade had just turned thirty-seven when Amethyst had been born.

"Guess that says something about the lives of assassins versus career military, huh?"

Dark couldn't help laughing. The complete apathy was fading, albeit rather slowly. "Hey now. I'm technically career military, myself."

The silence that fell over them was thick and heavy, threatening to choke them both. Dark suddenly wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"So... If I asked you to take over the majority of the Brotherhood's work until we're built back up to where we should be..."

Dark took a deep breath, and let it out along with a few expletives in liger. He was just as annoyed as Danté when Forcystus had brought the whole thing up. Or maybe he should be annoyed with Kairi, who had told them everything that was going on over on Aselia. Either way, he was rather iffy on the Brotherhood.

Rhunön may have taught Danté the basics, but Dark had been left mostly to his own devices. Which was exactly why he'd taken fairly well to the military, despite being uncomfortable in uniform. He didn't like killing.

But then, short of psychotic idiots (Derund Mohs came to mind), who did?

Thoughts of Mohs actually brought Dark's mind back to what was going on in the manor below him.

He was going to be a father. It scared him, certainly. He had a lot of enemies, and there was every chance they would bypass him and his beautiful, equally deadly wife in favor of trying to end their child's life prematurely.

"I don't know, Ryndor," he answered honestly. "I'm finally being considered for another promotion, Natalia's going to need to rest for the next few weeks, which means I have to worry about the city, Asch wants to bring another set of reforms to the table next month..." He stopped and let out a breath. "I'm gonna be struggling to find time for my kid. When am I supposed to be running around as an assassin?"

Ryndor sighed. "I guess you have a point. You had a rough enough childhood, and it's not like I don't have three other God-Generals willing to cover for me. Guess I just wanted to be able to relax some. Rebuilding the whole world is a lot harder than I actually expected."

Dark let his eyes drift over the city, watching the snow continue to fall. It was peaceful, and though Dark could see lights on in various houses, he knew that most people would be on their way to bed about now. These were Natalia's people. His, too, technically, but he was still having trouble wrapping his head around that.

A large part of him was grateful for Asch being king. Some part of him was still bitter that Natalia had been robbed of her rightful place as queen. But if he was struggling so much to settle into his role as marques, the stress of being the king would have done him in already.

He was going to have to be careful about how he raised his children—plural, because he knew Natalia wanted two—because there was a very important line between a proud but fair noble and an arrogant, cruel lord. Dark had dealt with both in his life, and married one of the former.

It was hard to adapt, being from the roots he was, but Natalia was always there for him.

And now, it would be his turn to be a pillar of support for their child.

A child who would never have to face the hardships he had.


	2. Black Stars Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark is about a half a year old here, I believe, so physically, he's somewhere around six/seven.  
> Gods, but I missed Koran.  
> Also, have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when FFnet takes my formatting out? Namely, the underlining I use for monster speech? Because I hate it when FFnet takes my formatting out. -dies-

He was still shaky on his feet, trying to keep up with the liger who kept looking over his shoulder, a black scarf in his mouth. It was _his_ scarf, but no, Koran wouldn't let him have it. Stupid overgrown cat...

"Ah, Dark. How nice of you to join me this afternoon."

He looked up in surprise. Rhunön? But...

Afternoon.

 _After_ noon.

He was late.

He took it back. _Smart_ overgrown cat. "I'm sorry," he said automatically.

Rhunön's expression didn't change. "Aren't you missing something, Dark?"

He blinked at her a couple times, then glanced at Koran, who was happily curled up in the corner. Then he looked back up at her.

Still not quite sure what he was missing, he looked down. Shoes, pants, shirt, gloves... Oh.

He turned and took off running down the hallway. He could barely walk still, but as soon as he started running, he was steady as Koran was when the liger cub walked.

Koran couldn't run well, so he thought it was okay. If they were better at different things, that was good, right?

He found his room and opened the door, not bothering to look for his gun. He knew exactly where it was. He'd been staring at it all night last night, after all. That was why he'd slept in, and Koran had had to wake him up by stealing his scarf.

That hadn't been fun. His neck still hurt.

He picked up the gun and the thing it had been in when Rhunön gave it to him. Hadn't she called it a... a... holder? Holster! That was the word!

The holster went on his belt... like that... And then the gun went in the holster!

Now actually ready for his lesson with Rhunön, he closed his door and ran back through the underground hallways to where he'd left Koran and Rhunön.

Rhunön was tapping her foot, and Dark knew that meant she wasn't happy. He wanted to get his scarf back from Koran, but...

"Gun," Rhunön said, holding out her hand. He pulled the gun from the holster and gave it to her, careful not to point it at her or himself. Just like he'd been told last night. She didn't smile, but she didn't do that a lot, anyway. He stayed there quietly as she looked at the gun.

The she nodded. "You see this here?' she asked, thumb on what looked like a little button near the trigger. He nodded. "This is the safety. It's currently on. If you aren't using it, the safety should be on at all times. Understand?"

Dark took a very long look at the button, determined to remember, and then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Come on, this way." Rhunön was walking away quickly, and Dark had to almost run to keep up, with his much shorter legs. Koran followed after, scarf still dangling from his mouth, but he tripped on it a moment later and went rolling, bumping into Dark's legs.

They tumbled to the ground, and Dark saw Rhunön stop rather suddenly. She watched, _not happy_ , as Dark got to his feet, pulled his scarf on, and then waited for Koran to get up.

As soon as they were both on their feet, Rhunön started walking again, and Dark ran after her.

"I'm sorry," Koran growled softly. Dark smiled, because Koran always liked it when he smiled.

"It's okay. At least you got me up so I wasn't any later, right?" he growled back

Koran yipped back a reply that was less a word and more just a happy sound.

It didn't take them long to reach a new room that Dark had never been in before. Dark looked around the large space. It was pretty empty, actually.

"Since you were late, you're going to start by running laps," Rhunön said Dark frowned.

"What's a lap?"

"Run next to the wall all the way around. Every time you pass me, it's a lap."

Oh. So if that was a lap, then... "How many?

He thought he saw a smile for a tiny moment, but then it was gone. "We'll start with nineteen, since that was how many minutes late you were. Do try to keep track for yourself?"

Though it sounded almost like a question, Dark had a feeling it was actually an order.

This wasn't going to be fun. He wasn't very good at counting. But Rhunön didn't look happy that he was still standing there, so he started running. Not really fast, because that would make him tired fast, but he wasn't walking, either.

He made it to seven before he started to get tired. Then he couldn't remember the number after ten. Or the number after that. He _did_ remember the next one was thirteen though. He'd just run past Rhunön for the fourteenth time when he tripped.

He took a moment to catch his breath. He wasn't to nineteen yet.

Koran nosed his cheek, and Dark smiled at the quiet cheering-on. He got back to his feet and kept running. He'd just finished sixteen when he saw Koran trying to run as well. His four legs kept getting tangled, but every time, the gray liger got back to his feet.

And then, as Dark finished the seventeenth lap, it was like Koran had figured it out all at once. Clumsy legs suddenly started moving in tandem, all four paws striking the ground one at a time really quickly, sending Koran flying forward, completely in the air for a moment before paws found the ground again.

Koran ran three laps in the time it took Dark to finish the last two. He came to a stop and dropped onto his butt, realizing just how much he was shaking, and wondering how he'd even finished.

Rhunön crouched next to him and grabbed his wrist, fingers pressed to the inside. Her face was weirdly blank for a moment. Then she sighed. "I'll save the other three laps for tomorrow."

Dark looked up at her, confused. "Three...?"

"It took you over a minute and a half to get back to your feet after you tripped. You'll be running those laps tomorrow."

He ducked his head. "Yes, ma'am."

Koran padded over and sat down next to him. Sitting like this, they were actually about the same height. Well, as long as he didn't count Koran's ears. Those were long enough to make Koran a few inches taller than him.

Rhunön let them sit for a little while as she walked to the human-shaped thing in the center and sat it upright. It was a terrible mimicry, Dark thought. And he definitely didn't know what she was planning for it to do. It looked like all it _could_ do was sit there.

He'd only just stopped shaking when Rhunön called out his name, and he got to his feet, still a little shaky, and walked over. Oddly, walking was a little easier now. Maybe he just needed to do it a lot and he'd figure it out like Koran had?

"Right here, Dark." Rhunön pointed to the ground in front of her, and he stood right there and looked up at her, waiting. "Face the practice dummy." She pointed to the bad fake human, and Dark turned to stare at it. It was a dull gray. No actual face, though he guessed the ball on top of a stick was supposed to be a head.

Rhunön held out the gun she'd been carrying, and Dark took it carefully. It was a weapon, she'd said last night. A tool, not a toy. (Not that he was all that sure what a toy was, anyway.)

Then Rhunön was on one knee just behind him, her chest brushing his back, and her hands found the backs of his hands, fitting them around the gun.

It was a little big for his hands, he thought. That didn't stop her from showing him how to hold it, how to remove the safety. He hadn't realized the weird button went all the way through.

Then, safety off, she smacked the insides of his arms. "Don't lock your elbows, you'll hurt yourself with the kickback." He nodded, letting his arms stay a little bit bent. "See the little tip at the head of the gun? That's your sight. Line it up with where you want the shot to hit. In this case, preferably the middle of the dummy's body."

Dark nodded, and lined up the little part sticking up with what would be the center of someone's chest... if the dummy looked a little more like a human and less like a barrel that had a stick and a ball on top of it.

"Fire."

He pulled the trigger, and promptly dropped the gun when the loud crack met his ears. Between the noise and the way the gun had jerked in his hands, he wasn't sure how he was _supposed_ to keep ahold of the thing.

Rhunön sighed behind him. "Pick it up." Dark glanced over his shoulder. He didn't want to...

Gold eyes were _angry_ , and he felt the shaking come back. Except, this wasn't 'I'm tired because I just ran a long time' shaking, this was 'she's gonna _hurt_ me if I don't and I'm scared' shaking.

So he turned, bent over, and picked up the gun like it was Koran's food and Koran hadn't finished eating yet.

"Aim."

Remembering what she'd told him about how to hold it, he changed his grip and took aim, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't even see any damage. Had his first shot missed that badly?

"Fire."

He hesitated.

Rhunön pinched his shoulder, _hard_ , and he yelped, spinning around to look at her, but keeping the gun pointed at the ground.

Those same angry gold eyes stared at him. "Turn around, aim, and _fire_."

He swallowed. He didn't want to.

She wasn't going to let him walk away though. So he turned around, raised his arms fully aware that he was shaking and would probably miss again, and fired.

This time, he was expecting the noise and the way the gun jerked in his grip. It didn't make it any better, but he didn't drop it this time, at least.

"Again."

"Why?" He didn't like it, and from the way Koran had buried his head in his paws, the noise hurt his ears, too.

Rhunön was _very_ unhappy. "Again."

He didn't want to.

She wasn't going to let him stop.

Dark turned back around slowly, staring at the dummy. Now that he looked, he saw two small scuffs. One on the side of what would have been the dummy's head, and the other on its left side. He'd almost missed both times.

...No, he _had_ missed. He'd been aiming for the center of the chest, after all.

He shifted his grip so it was correct again, lifted his arms, and took aim, taking deep, slow breaths as he tried to calm himself down, like he always had to do after nightmares. Another breath in, and he pulled the trigger for a third time.

He saw the scuff mark appear on the dummy's shoulder.

Closer. Still off.

A couple deep breaths—whoops, bend the elbows a little!—and...

The fourth shot was even closer.

He paused here and looked over his shoulder. "How many..."

"Keep firing until the gun can't keep up with you. I expect there to be a noticeable mark in the center of the dummy's chest by then."

He swallowed, very afraid of that tone of voice and what it promised.

He turned back toward the dummy, took another deep breath, aimed, and fired. Again, and again...

He stopped really noticing the noise after a while. The jerking was annoying, but not something he couldn't adjust his grip for. Slowly, so slowly that it hurt a little, the scuff marks started to gather in the center of the dummy's chest.

Dark kept firing until he pulled the trigger and the gun clicked at him. The odd sound and lack of a kickback had him freezing and staring at the gun for a moment.

Rhunön's hand at his side was enough for him to understand what she wanted, and he put the gun in her hand, happy to not have to hold it any longer. She waited a moment, then fired it again, a scuff mark just barely visible in the center of the slight mess Dark had made of the dummy's chest.

"Good. We'll do this again tomorrow. After you finish running your laps."

Dark was _not_ looking forward to it. As if it weren't bad enough that his sides and legs hurt from running earlier, now his ears and arms were hurting from the gun. Rhunön didn't say a word as she handed it back to him, but if she was letting him go, that meant...

He found the weird button thing and pressed it, putting the safety on before he put it back in its holster.

He didn't like the gun. Not at all.

But he knew better than to argue.

"Go take a shower. Your homework will be waiting for you on your dresser," Rhunön ordered. He nodded and walked away, happy it was over.

His _everything_ hurt, and she was going to make him do it again tomorrow?

Koran walked alongside him, clearly still not happy about the loud noises he'd had to listen to. Dark felt sorry for him. If it had been loud for him, Koran, who usually heard things further away than he did, had probably wanted to run far, far away so he didn't have to hear it.

"I'm sorry..." he growled quietly.

"Don't be," Koran growled back, nudging his shoulder. _Sore_ shoulder. Ow... He wondered if his arms were as bruised as they felt. "If you're going to be using two of those as your claws, I have to get used to the noise."

"I don't think I _want_ to use them."

"Is she giving you a choice?"

Dark bowed his head. "No..."

"Alright then." Koran sounded so proud of himself, but when they reached the bathroom, he whined a little. "It'll be okay. You'll see."

Dark paused, turned, and threw his arms around the liger's neck, legs failing him and sending him crashing to his knees again. He was tired, and he hurt, and he never wanted to fire that gun ever again.

"Do you think we could run away?" he asked quietly.

Koran whined again, and licked up the side of his face. "I don't know."

...Neither did Dark.


	3. Black Stars Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark is now four years old, ten physically. Koran is fully grown into the overgrown, overprotective house cat we all know and miss dearly. (I really wish I was better at drawing animals; I wanna make a good picture of these two curled up in a nest together.)

There was blood on his hands.

Not literally; he hadn't been anywhere near the monster he'd killed. But it had been a liger like Koran, and it hadn't understood why he had to kill it, and neither had he, and now the liger was dead and _Dark had killed someone!_

...Well, technically he'd killed some _thing_ , but ligers were just as smart as humans! They had a language, they communicated, they loved. They'd probably write, too, if they had a means or a need.

So he'd killed someone.

He was curled into a ball on his bed, watching as Koran finished off his dinner in his nest in the corner. Rhunön had said they were leaving soon, going to meet up with her brother at the 'Archives,' whatever and wherever that was.

He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it, or dreading it.

On the one hand, it wasn't this place, where he'd been living for the last four years. On the other... Well. Rhunön was still in complete control of his life, and she knew it. It wasn't a comfortable thought. He wanted to leave. He wanted to get far, far away from Rhunön and her rules. He wanted...

He wanted to get rid of the guns he'd been carrying around for the last year. Two, now. It was just as painful learning to fire two at the same time as it had been to learn to fire the first one.

"Dark, Koran!"

He flinched at Rhunön's shout, but got out of his bed and grabbed the coat hanging on the wall. It was long and kinda flowy, like Rhunön's. Except his was black, where hers was brown. And he still had his scarf. Well, technically it was a new scarf, but he had a scarf.

Koran stretched, snatched up what little bit remained of his dinner, and swallowed it whole. It wasn't _that_ much, anyway, and he'd swallowed larger chunks of meat before.

The gray liger padded over to his side. "We're going, then?"

Dark looked around his room, spotting the guns sitting up on a shelf.

Rhunön had called them his training guns. She'd told him to leave them here and given him a new pair after he'd killed the liger. It was the new pair in the holsters at his sides.

He wished he could just leave all four of them behind, but she wouldn't be happy about that.

So he left the room with nothing but the clothes on his back, the guns at his sides, and Koran. Not that Koran was carrying anything, but the point stood.

He was going somewhere unknown, and taking nothing he was familiar with along for the ride.

He did not like it.

"There you are. Can you walk any slower?"

And, nope. Rhunön did not sound happy with him. Still... "I can," he muttered.

The good thing was, Rhunön wasn't exactly strict about him talking back. As long as he did what she told him to do, when she told him to do it, she didn't really care about what else he did. Every once in a while, he even got a snort out of her for his cheek.

She rolled her eyes this time, then turned, grabbed her bag—oh, so _she_ got to take a bag, but he didn't?—and started up the steps that would lead out into a forest. "We're going to be moving fast. I've got an amicaydra, and you've got Koran."

"Wait a sec... is she expecting me to carry you?" Koran growled.

Dark fought down the urge to growl an insult. "I would guess the answer to that is 'yes,'" he said instead.

Koran didn't look too terribly pleased about it, but Rhunön clearly wasn't giving them a choice. Dark wasn't happy, either. Koran was his friend. He wasn't a beast of burden or something. He couldn't be expected to carry Dark without complaint.

Rhunön didn't say anything else, though, stepping outside of the dilapidated little cabin that hid the entrance to the hideout. Sure enough, there was a single terrestrial amicaydra tethered to a nearby tree. It didn't seem too impressed with its halter, and kept tugging at it, but it was tame enough as Rhunön untied it and mounted.

A golden glare had Dark sighing and giving Koran an apologetic look. His liger friend, who was now a fully-grown alpha nearly as large as the amicaydra, shook himself and lowered his head. "Let's just get this over with."

Dark sighed, put two hands on his friend's back, and jumped, swinging a leg over and settling in just behind Koran's shoulders, where he thought it might be the most comfortable for him.

"Little further back," Koran growled softly. Dark scooted back a couple inches.

Rhunön seemed pleased enough with the fact that he was now mounted—no matter how uncomfortably—and she tugged on the amicaydra's reins before gently kicking its side. It took off at a pretty fair trot, and Koran followed without a word. It took them a couple minutes to get the rhythm right, but Dark shifted with every stride Koran made, and as the minutes passed, his liger friend fell into an easy but ground-eating pace that had him catching up with the amicaydra bearing Rhunön easily.

It took almost ten minutes for Dark to realize that he was grinning, laughing every time Koran took a flying leap over an obstacle in their path, the majority of which Rhunön was outright avoiding. The wind in his face, catching his hair and scarf and whipping them both through the air behind him, catching his coat as well...

It felt like flying. He'd always enjoyed running, once he'd finally gotten the endurance to keep it up for any amount of time, but _this_... This was amazing, and Koran was _so_ much faster than he would ever be...

Dark kept his eyes on the path ahead of them, waiting until Koran took another jump and then, for the few seconds they were completely airborne above the fallen tree, he sat up straight, arms held out like wings.

He wished he _had_ wings, actually, even as Koran landed and he leaned back down over his brother's back. He loved the feeling of defying gravity, loved the thought that he could soar through the air.

He wished he had wings, so he could fly alongside Koran.

"You know what, I take back all of the complaints I was thinking," Koran growled as they darted back and forth between a line of trees.

"Are you having as much fun as I am?" Dark asked.

Koran was quiet for a moment, before letting out a yowl of complete and utter _triumph_. Dark threw his head back and joined in with the closest approximation he could manage, and he heard Rhunön laughing behind him.

Dark chose to ignore her. He didn't care about her all that much. She'd been putting him through hell, after all. But this... this was too much fun. He and Koran were never complaining about this again.

He did wonder if she'd known how amazing it was to feel like he was flying, but the thought was lost from his mind a moment later when Koran leapt over another obstacle—this time a set of fallen branches.

This was what freedom felt like.


	4. Black Stars Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a month later, I think? Give or take. (Also, yeah, Dark didn't really like Rhunon as a child. I think he rather got over that after living on his own for a while.)

It was like looking in a mirror. There he was. And there Koran was.

Except the image was wrong, distorted. The other Koran's eyes were dull, almost like someone had blurred the line where his pupils met the irises. The other Dark wasn't wearing a scarf, and his hair was shorter, and...

And his eyes were normal. Solid green, round pupils... _Normal_. He didn't have the same gold, reptilian eye Dark had.

"...Who are you?"

The other him was completely and utterly silent as he continued to look Dark over. Emotionless.

Except, then the apathy left, and rage was taking its place. Dark had only a moment to react as the other him drew a gun and made to shoot him.

In the three seconds it took for him to draw, aim, and fire, Dark had dropped to his left side, and Koran had let loose a lightning attack that knocked the boy who looked like Dark onto his back.

Dark jumped onto Koran's back and growled two words. "Find sanctuary."

His brother took off running, leaping to the side to avoid a lightning attack from the liger that looked like him. They had the head start, though, and even if he and Koran didn't know their way around this place, they weren't going to stand around and let the other two kill them.

It had occurred to Dark, after all, that if he had been trained to kill, and the boy who looked like him had the same weapons and had been so quick to draw and fire, then that meant the other boy had also been trained to kill.

The worst part of the whole thing was, he was pretty sure the other boy cared less about killing people that Dark did. It was wrong, just _wrong_ , but Rhunön hadn't given him a choice, and... and...

Koran raced into what looked like a library—not that Dark had ever had the chance to actually look _through_ a library—and slowed down a little, looking over his shoulder.

It didn't seem the other two had followed them, so Dark slid off his friend's back and started looking around. It bothered him that he couldn't read half of the books that were laying around, but some of them were in the Fonic Alphabet, and _weren't_ in Ancient Ispanian, so he picked one of them up to look at it.

It made no sense to him, however, so he put it back where he'd found it and looked through some of the other books, slowly working his way further and further away from where he and Koran had come in.

"I don't think anyone comes in here anymore," Koran said after a while.

Dark shrugged. "That just means we don't have to worry about the crazies that look like us. Who the hell are they, anyway?"

"Their names are Danté and Kallig."

Dark jumped and twisted, drawing a gun on impulse and aiming it where the voice had come from—almost straight up.

He recognized the man sitting on top of the bookshelf, though, and he lowered the gun a bit as he blinked at him. "Master Ryndor?"

Ryndor smiled and nodded. "Good reflexes, by the way."

Dark lowered the gun further, watching Ryndor warily. "Why do they look like us?"

Something like sadness entered Ryndor's expression, and he sighed. "Technically... you look like them." The redhead shifted, getting a bit more comfortable on top of the bookcase. "You and Koran are replicas, created from fonic data taken from Danté and Kallig when Danté was six. I know Rhunön told you that you were six, and your birthday was in Rem-Decan, but the age and date she gave you are Danté's."

Dark swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. "...What?"

Ryndor stayed silent. Clearly he realized that yes, Dark understood everything he'd said, and no, he wasn't going to take it back.

...He wasn't... he wasn't _real_. He was just a copy.

It all suddenly made sense. Why Rhunön had forced him to learn to use the guns, why she'd wanted him to work with Koran as he did...

"I'm disposable," he muttered. A back-up plan in case Danté did something stupid and they needed to sacrifice someone.

"That was the plan. I never liked that plan," Ryndor said, rather lightly considering the situation.

Dark shifted, dropping onto his bum and leaning against the bookshelf opposite the one Ryndor was seated on.

"Well, it doesn't matter to me."

Dark blinked and looked up, meeting Koran's brown eyes and wondering just what he meant. The liger laid down next to him and let his head fall into Dark's lap, all but demanding to be scratched behind the ears, and Dark wasn't going to deny him, since it would help _him_ feel better, too. "What do you mean? I'm just the replacement if the other gets in trouble."

"Not to me. You're _my_ fang-brother. He's a stranger, with a feral liger at his side."

Dark frowned. "Feral?"

"Did you see his eyes? He can't _think_ anymore. He'll do what reflection-you tells him to, but he can't think for himself. It's sad, and horrible."

He couldn't help but agree. That _did_ sound horrible, especially since it was quite likely that Danté cared about Kallig just as much as he cared about Koran.

He patted down some of the fur he'd mussed up with his scratching, and looked up at Ryndor. "So... what's gonna happen now?"

Ryndor looked up toward the ceiling. "Hopefully, I can keep you two from killing each other. I rather like you both, though... Don't tell Danté this. You're a little more likeable than he is."

Dark offered up a weak smile, but couldn't hold it for long. "You two trained us as assassins."

"Danté had a choice. As I understand it, you didn't."

"It doesn't change the fact that I am one," he pointed out. "Are you...?"

"I am. Rhunön used to be. She retired... about the same time Danté was born, actually."

And that brought him back to another thing. "When was I... created?"

Ryndor gave him a rather amused look. "Undine-Decan fifty-three, N.D. 2003."

That made him... just shy of four years old, actually. He wasn't actually four yet. Not until next week.

He leaned over, effectively laying on Koran's back even as Koran left his head in his lap. They were both just shy of four years old.

He smiled to himself at that thought. Because it was something unique to him. Something that wasn't Danté's. Something that was purely _him_.

Well, him and Koran. They had to share the date, since they'd apparently been created at the same time.

"You okay, kiddo?"

Dark looked up at Ryndor and nodded. "I think I am now. Thank you."

He got a rare but honest smile from the man who had apparently taken Danté in at a young age, and got the feeling that he was glad for whatever little bit of individuality Dark had managed to find with that small amount of information.

He waited until Ryndor left before he got up, heading back the direction they had come. Yes, he'd been made as a scapegoat in case Danté fucked up.

He didn't care anymore. He wasn't Danté, wasn't Danté's spare. His name was Dark Daemione, and Lorelei help his original if Danté thought he was going to lay down and accept the hand he'd been unfairly dealt in this life.

"Are you coming, Koran?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Dark."


	5. Black Stars Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark's still four/ten. Whichever measure of time you prefer to use. :)  
> (Also, don't ask me about Dark and his scarf. He brought it up repeatedly in this, probably just so he could get away with bringing it back in AEtT:Future Arcs.)

Dark really needed to get rid of this scarf.

He did love the scarf, really, except for one teeny tiny little detail.

Danté was currently using it to try to strangle him.

Ergo, he needed to get rid of it. It was clearly a liability, no matter how much he liked it.

"What the hell was Rhunön thinking, creating a defunct replica like you?! I can't believe her..."

Dark struggled to get fingers between his neck and the fabric currently threatening to cut off his breathing altogether. He could hear Koran's paws against the earth, now if he could just...

Danté cried out in some combination of pain and frustration as his grip on Dark's scarf was lost, and Dark quickly pulled the black cloth away from his neck, letting it drift to the ground even as he ran past his downed original. Koran dug his claws in and turned, barely giving Dark enough time to leap up onto his back.

It had been seven months since they'd moved to the Archives, and Dark was getting sick of Danté trying to kill him. This was the eighth time this week, and the third time he'd grabbed his scarf.

Which was another reason why Dark was leaving the scarf behind. He was starting to associate the thing with being strangled, and that wasn't a very good feeling at all. He'd thought it was uncomfortable to have Koran tugging him out of bed by pulling on it years ago? Oh no. That was nothing compared to a murderous original doing everything in his power to end his replica's life.

And no matter that Dark didn't _want_ to be a replacement, or a scapegoat, or whatever the hell Rhunön had originally planned for him. No, Danté wanted him _dead_ , which wasn't supposed to be too much of a problem, since he wasn't supposed to exist in the first place.

He growled a few curses, but chose not to say anything all that loudly. He didn't need to waste his breath.

"We should leave," Koran said as he ran through the halls, clearly headed for their usual place in the actual Archives. Dark sighed and let his head hang, raising a hand to his neck to massage the sore muscles.

"Yeah. We probably should," he agreed reluctantly. "Not that we have much we can take with us. I have my guns and a few clothes. You?"

"Everything I need is on my back right now."

Which was a rather blunt way of saying 'All I need is you, so are we going or not?'

"Can we get out without running into Danté or Kallig?" he asked quietly.

Koran's growl was rather amused. Wordless, but it was the confirmation Dark hadn't dared hope for.

"Alright then. Let's go." He leaned over Koran's back, ready to throw his weight into any turns, and his brother picked up the pace, rapidly tearing through the halls like a beast possessed.

They were going to leave. They were going to get out of here, escape, go find somewhere to live where they wouldn't have to deal with Danté's constant threat, or Rhunön's machinations, or...

They wouldn't have Ryndor, either. Ryndor actually cared, no matter how much he tried to pretend he didn't. He cared about the two of them, he wanted them to be alright in the end, and... Dark felt bad that they were running off and leaving him behind. But they couldn't drag him with them, and there was no point in trying to talk him into coming when Rhunön was his sister and Danté was his son in all but blood.

Koran, thank the liger's intelligence, stopped at their room, letting Dark get down so he could run in and pack everything he could. Not that he had much; a few changes of clothes, a couple boxes of bullets for use against the people he actually wanted to kill, and a picture, courtesy of Ryndor, of him and Koran the day they'd been created.

He took all of it, throwing everything into a bag and then pulling the straps over his shoulders.

He slammed into someone when he stepped back out of his room, and with every instinct screaming at him, jumped back and drew both guns, aiming them at... Ryndor.

Under normal circumstances, he would have lowered the guns and given the auburn-haired man an irritated look.

These weren't normal circumstances, and he had no idea how Ryndor was going to react to the fact that he was running away.

But then the redhead gave him a small, sad smile, and held out a bag that Dark hadn't seen immediately. "There's a notebook with information on fonic artes inside."

"You realize..."

"There are also notes on how to work around the limitations you're facing."

Dark blinked, then put the guns away and took the bag warily. There was definitely more than one notebook in here, not to mention...

He pulled the bag open and dug out the pouch of gald, then held it out to Ryndor. He didn't need _charity_ —

"It's yours," Ryndor said, refusing to take it. "From that merchant five weeks ago."

Dark blinked. "You mean...?"

"Rhunön took the payment and clearly had no intention of giving it to you, but you earned it. Take it, keep yourself fed. I wouldn't suggest anywhere too populated. Maybe on the edge of one of the mid-sized cities?"

Dark nodded, taking the advice for what it was, and put the pouch of gald back into the bag. The whole thing was then shoved into the bag he'd already had on his back, and he took the three steps over to Koran's side.

"And Dark..."

He looked over his shoulder, mismatched eyes meeting acid-green.

"...Take care of yourself, kiddo."

He nodded. Ryndor might not have been willing to take sides, especially not when Danté clearly had every intention of killing Dark, but the elder assassin did care. And that was all Dark needed to know.

He jumped up onto his partner's back, and Koran took off running. He had clothes, and a blanket, and the money he needed to buy food and probably another blanket.

"Well. Any ideas?" he asked as Koran tore out of a tunnel and into the forest above the Archives.

"Not really. We're in liger territory right now, but the problem is, we can't really risk asking any of them for help. They're probably not only going to _not_ want to help, there's too high a chance Danté will be able to find us quickly. We need somewhere well away from here," Koran replied.

Dark sighed. He had a point, but that didn't make it any easier to pick a location. He supposed the next question was, did they want to stay in Malkuth, or did they want to go to Kimlasca?

Wherever they did go, it had to be somewhere Danté was unlikely to find them. That didn't give them a whole lot of ideas, however, because Danté would go wherever the money was.

Ryndor was right. Outside one of the mid-sized cities was his best bet. He knew there was a forest outside Belkend, and the Meggiora Highlands might provide some okay shelter if Danté came looking, but those were both in Kimlasca, and halfway around the world to boot. The forests outside of St. Binah were off-limits, being too close to the hideout he'd grown up in. So that left...

"Keterburg, then. Hope you're alright with the snow."

Koran growled quietly. "I'll manage. Besides, look at which of us has fur. I'd be more concerned about you," he replied.

Dark nodded. Koran was right, of course, but... "So... Chesedonia for the ferry?" He wasn't sure he wanted to try his luck with Grand Chokmah. Oh, the capital was closer, but Chesedonia was an autonomous state, and as such, no one would look at him twice.

...Actually, plenty of people would look at him twice, but that would have more to do with the fact that he was dragging a liger around than anything else.

It would have to be a late-departure ferry, then. Koran would just about vanish in the twilight hours, when the sun was setting and dyed everything odd colors. He could sneak onto the ferry when no one was paying attention, and then Dark would be able to get the both of them to Keterburg. He had enough gald to last him a month, at _least_. He should be able to buy a ferry ticket for himself without incident.

He took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh.

Keterburg it was, then.


	6. Black Stars Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Silver Waters, Ryndor's bombshells at the end won't surprise you. If you haven't... consider yourself warned.

It was complete luck that they found the cabin. It was almost five miles outside the city, hidden well inside the pine forest that surrounded Mt. Roneal, and it was in desperate need of some work, but it was a cabin.

Dark looked over at Koran, whose fur was fluffed up in an attempt to keep warm. Given a couple seasons, he'd grow a thick enough undercoat to handle the cold with ease, but until then, he was going to be fighting the cold just as much as Dark was.

Actually, Dark was still going to be having the greater struggle of the two of them.

But that was just because humans didn't _have_ fur, and he really wasn't equipped with the kind of clothing he needed to manage out here.

 _Yet_.

He held onto that 'yet' with everything he had, and threw himself into at least patching up the worst of the house's problems. Once he was sure that the chimney was clear and still structurally sound, he set out into the woods looking for wood. He needed to start a fire if he wanted to stay warm, after all.

Koran often followed him, even though he didn't necessarily _need_ to. Yes, the liger was going to need to make himself a nest at some point, but for the time being, they could curl up together under a couple blankets and that was just fine.

Dark certainly wasn't going to complain about sharing body heat with Koran. The liger ran hotter than he did, or it felt like that, anyway. Still, once they'd gotten a fire going, the cabin warmed up considerably, and Dark found it a lot easier to keep working on the minor repairs that would allow them to actually _live_ in it.

The majority of the repairs done, Dark headed into town, grateful to Koran for being willing to carry him as far as the gates. Clothes were his next mission, and Keterburg was definitely the best place to be getting clothes for the cold weather.

Once armed with more appropriate clothes—though, all still in black—Dark headed back home.

He'd asked Koran not to wait for him, so he had a ways to walk, and in the darkness, it was something of a dangerous trip. Still, between the moonlight and the snow, he didn't have much trouble seeing.

Part of that could be attributed to his right eye, which, despite looking rather creepy, was definitely good for seeing in less-than-ideal conditions. Something about it allowed him to see in the darkness, as well as through the mists of early morning and the dust of a pile of collapsed books. (That last, he'd found out when Koran had knocked over a pile in the Archives. The liger had been too busy sneezing to be of any help getting the books put back in their pile.)

He followed the trail of paw prints in the snow, ears trained for any hint of a monster coming after him. Keterburg was supposed to be one of the most dangerous areas in the world, at least so far as monsters were concerned...

But, no. He found himself walking up to the cabin and opened the door to be greeted by warmth. Welcome warmth. And the fact that the place _hadn't_ burnt down while he'd been in Keterburg was a good sign.

Koran was already curled up in a corner not too far from the fire, which, while alive, was slowly dying. Dark contemplated putting some more wood on it, then decided that was probably for the best and did so.

It would be enough to keep it going, however weakly, at least until morning, and then he could either pile more on, or he could leave it as it was.

They would need to start looking into a job of some kind in the morning, actually. That... wasn't a thought Dark really wanted to entertain.

He was ten, physically. Sure, he was only four, but then, replication—or rather, fomicry—wasn't a common practice, nor was it common knowledge. Something about the science being forbidden.

That certainly hadn't stopped Rhunön any, and he knew it wasn't going to stop her in the future if she decided she wanted to create more replicas. After all, she'd made him. He'd been meant as a scapegoat for Danté, hadn't he?

He didn't want to be an assassin. For now, it seemed to be what he was stuck with, but that didn't mean he _was_ stuck with it. He was going to have to think about this, and figure out what he _wanted_ to do.

He fell asleep with these thoughts in his head, and woke up with no more answers than he'd fallen asleep with.

Fixing up the cabin completely was going to take them weeks, months maybe, and more money than he had on him. He wanted to stay here, as he'd decided he liked the snow—something about the white snow and the dark tree trunks just drew him in—but he certainly couldn't do that if he didn't have a good roof over his head.

Dark and Koran headed into town again the next day, and Dark immediately set about looking for work.

Only, no one seemed to want to take him seriously.

The only serious suggestion he'd gotten was from Viscount Osborn, a woman with golden hair and equally golden eyes. But where Rhunön's eyes had always been cold, Nephry's were warm, welcoming.

She told him, in no uncertain terms, that the only way he'd find steady work as his age was if he joined the Order of Lorelei. It became obvious rather quickly that the Order of Lorelei wasn't an option, though. He'd already decided to settle in outside Keterburg, and while he wasn't _that_ attached to the area yet, he wasn't really up to leaving it. There was no guarantee that he'd be able to keep Koran with him in Daath, and... well.

He had paperwork that looked good enough at a glance, but it wouldn't hold up under scrutiny. Trying to explain that he was a replica wasn't going to go over well when he _knew_ fomicry was illegal.

That basically left him with just one option—take advantage of the foundations Rhunön had laid down for him.

She had taught him to be an assassin... so an assassin, he'd be. The gald Ryndor had given him had been counted—multiple times, because he'd thought he'd miscounted the first time and still couldn't believe the number he was coming up with the second time—and he'd written up a very careful budget. That gald would have lasted him for three months, if he hadn't needed clothes and blankets and other such things so badly.

The good news was, he still had enough gald to last him a couple months. If he wanted to keep up a month's buffer, then he'd need to find a job by the end of the month.

He wasn't going to be able to be picky, he realized. Rhunön had been looking for a target for him for _weeks_ before she'd sent him out, but some of the other bills she'd been looking at, she had set aside. They'd vanished later, but Dark thought he knew where they'd ended up now. After all, if Master Ryndor was still active, and Danté was active, that meant there were three of them all looking for jobs.

Suddenly, Dark was unsure about this course of action. Sure, he'd be using the skills he already had—though he wasn't sure exactly how he was going to go about finding jobs—but would they be enough work available to make it worth it?

He'd been on his own for two weeks when he found a fallen tree, sat down on it, and started wondering just what he'd thought he was doing when he'd run away.

"Well, that's not a good sign."

Dark was on his feet in an instant, guns aimed at... Ryndor. Of course. Who else would be able to sneak up on him? Still, Dark didn't relax. Ryndor had helped him, but he'd never stopped Danté from trying to kill him, either.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Dark," Ryndor said, sitting on the fallen tree a couple feet away from where Dark _had_ been sitting. "Did you get a chance to look at the book on artes yet?"

Deciding not to waste his energy, Dark sat back down, one gun going in its holster. "Not yet. Fonic artes tend to drain me, even the set Rhunön taught me."

Ryndor nodded. "I had a feeling that would be the case. You've noticed that the standard artes won't work for you?"

Dark nodded. They'd figured that out ages ago. "They get overloaded every time."

Ryndor frowned a bit at that. "That's odd. Danté's always _under_ -powered them. You're sure you're over-loading?"

"Yes. I'd tell you to ask Koran, but he's out hunting and you can't speak liger anyway."

Acid-colored eyes narrowed. "And the special set Rhunön taught you?"

Dark sighed and shrugged. "They work, but I'm still overloading them and they definitely take a toll." Archangel's Wing, especially, as it usually left him flat on his ass.

Ryndor nodded. Not really surprised, but still thoughtful. "You should definitely read that book, then. It's got information on how to create your own artes. You'll need to fine-tune for overloading."

Dark gritted his teeth. "And if I don't want to be a fonist?"

Ryndor gave him a wry smile. "I can't force you, but it's in your blood. Every time you're in a fight against the monsters around here, you start pulling in fonons, don't you?" Dark ducked his head, cheeks turning pink. Ryndor chuckled. "I meant it, Dark. It's in your blood."

"I'm a replica."

His father figure shrugged. "So?" Dark tilted his head to the side much like Koran would when he was confused, and Ryndor sighed. "Rhunön might have altered your biology a little, your gold eye is proof of that, but she didn't really do anything to change your genetics. So far as anyone needs to be concerned, you and Danté are twins. That means his biological family is also yours. And that fonon problem is something he inherited from his mother, just as she inherited it from her father."

Dark swallowed. "His birth family. Are they still... alive?"

Ryndor shook his head. "Deinora Darigan, his... _your_ birth mother, died shortly after Danté was born. We don't know who your father is, but Rhunön's still looking. Deinora was very... secretive." Ryndor shrugged. "But, that's beside the point. You problems with fonic artes are genetic. If you're willing to work around it, though, there's a very good chance you'd make for an excellent fonist."

Dark sat back and considered what Ryndor was telling him. He was right, of course. While Koran fought to keep the monsters off of him, he always seemed to end up casting at least one arte. The problem was, artes left him weak, unhelpful.

Maybe he _should_ look at that book on artes.

"Anyway, that wasn't really the reason I came here," Ryndor said a moment later. He pulled a few folded papers out of a pocket. "These are for you. One page is a list of contacts and the pass phrases you'll need to get work through them, if you choose to go that route. The others are better-quality papers than you were carrying before. They'll stand up to inspection in Daath or Kimlasca, but not here in Malkuth. So if you feel like joining the military, that's also an option."

Dark looked through the papers, and found that Ryndor hadn't lied. "You sure they'll hold up?" he asked.

"Reighn Aurelius joined the Order of Lorelei at nine years old. Fon Master Evanos and I were the only two who knew. To this day, everyone believes he was born in nineteen-ninety-six. He was actually born in ninety-seven." Ryndor shrugged. "Evanos asked for the paperwork, and I made it."

Dark looked up at him confusedly. "You were in the Order?"

The redhead nodded. "Fon Master Guard. Last order I received from Evanos was to kill him and keep a discreet eye on his successor."

There were shadows in Ryndor's eyes when he admitted to this, and Dark sighed. "Thanks for the papers." It did prop open a door he'd been afraid was closed.

It was an option. He'd decided he liked options.


	7. Black Stars Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give or take, two years prior to canon. So Dark is now... edging up on thirteen, actually. Physically, at least.

Dark scowled as the glasruda dropped to the ground. That hadn't been his arte, no matter how unusual 'Prism Gale' was. He turned to glare over his shoulder.

The first thing that caught his eye was silver hair. Then he recognized the boy standing next to the silver-haired girl. After all, he'd been to Daath often enough to recognize the Fon Master. And, on a closer inspection, he knew the girl, too. Starlorne Arlynde, part of the Fon Master's guard. It was actually a bit odd seeing her without Reighn. They were usually thick as thieves.

Then he noticed that Ion seemed to be somewhat sickly, though well on the path to recovery, by his steady breathing.

"Where's your liger?" Star all but demanded. As if Koran were a pet... It took some control for Dark to keep his relatively neutral expression.

"I'm not his babysitter. He's free to come and go as he pleases." Dark eyed the staff Ion was holding. Not his usual. Actually, it looked like he'd filched Reighn's.

Which meant it probably wasn't just a staff. Dark had been lucky enough to get to see Reighn's scythe once; he'd be happy to never repeat the experience, thank you very much.

"We're not here to fight," Ion said rather suddenly. Which was kinda funny, because Ion still looked ready to attack, Star had a puppet out, and Dark hadn't put his guns away, either.

"Then why are you here, Fon Master?" he asked sharply. Both of them scowled at his choice of words.

"I'm not the Fon Master. Not anymore. Mohs made sure of that," Ion said. "As for what we're going here... Call it curiosity. You're Dark, then."

Dark nodded slowly. He didn't trust the twelve-year-old who claimed he was no longer the Fon master, nor did he care for the sixteen-year-old at his side. Thought to be honest, he wasn't sure if Star actually was sixteen, or if her papers had been forged as well.

"...You and Danté are very similar."

Dark bared his teeth in a rather liger-esque sign of aggression. "He hasn't given me much chance to be different. Seems like every time I try to get myself out of the niche I've been forced to share with him, he does something to screw me over and stick me back in it."

Star looks a bit disgusted, but Ion give him a _look_. "You want to be a different person from your original?"

"Yes. It's certainly not my fault Rhunön raised me the way she did. If I'd known about Danté then, I'd have run a lot earlier."

He watched Star and Ion, wondering what they were going to do with that admission. Star looked like she'd be more than happy to fight him, honestly, but Ion...

Ion stared at him, some sort of a strange fascination in his eyes. Physically, Dark wasn't that much older than the supposedly-former Fon Master. Mismatched eyes stayed locked with pine green for a long few minutes, before Ion took a deep breath.

"My name is Zion Daemione."

Dark blinked. And then he did it again, because the boy had just said _Daemione_. But Daemione was _his_ name, the name he shared with Danté and...

Ryndor and Rhunön.

Ryndor had adopted the Fon Master. That was the only thing that made any sense to him, since it was highly unlikely any child with _green_ hair would be biologically related to the redhead. Though, the _why_ rather confused him.

Then again, Evanos had asked him to look out for his successor, so Dark guessed that had something to do with it.

"Guess that sorta makes us brothers," he said levelly, judging their reactions. Ion—or, he guessed, Zion—tilted his head to the side, clearly interested. Star just narrowed her eyes at him.

"You said you wanted to be someone other than Danté, but you're keeping his name?"

Dark growled. "Ryndor's the closest thing I'll likely ever have for a father, so yes, I'll keep _his_ name for my own. I don't like my older brother, and frankly, I'm sick of him trying to _kill_ me in between fucking me over when I try to find a job that doesn't require killing people for hire." He took a deep breath, then snorted when he let it out. "Rhunön gave me the name 'Dark.' I'm not sure I like it, but it's _mine_. Danté had no say in it. So I fail to see how I'm 'keeping his name' as you claim."

Zion shifted, almost leaning against his staff, and he spoke up as Star opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue. "Enough, Star. He's right. His name is his own." Now that blue glare was aimed at him, and he glared right back. "So long as Ryndor's still willing to lay claim to him, he has as much right to the Daemione name as I do." A pause, and Zion turned to him again. "Did Ryndor ever tell you the other reason Rhunön created you? I know she said you were supposed to be a stop gap in case Danté got stupid, but if all they wanted was a spare, why bother altering your fomicry data to make you a seventh fonist? Why change your eye to set the two of you apart?"

Dark shifted, wary now. Zion wasn't just here to talk, it seemed. "The Council of Elements. Ryndor's wind. Rhunön's earth. Danté's probably light."

"You were meant to be the stand-in for the seventh fonon," Zion said. Not something Dark had actually thought about before, but it made sense, so he nodded.

"I'm guessing that's you, now, since I'm not going back."

Zion nodded. "Star's water."

"He doesn't need to know _everything_ , Zion!" the silver-haired girl in question hissed. Dark rolled his eyes.

"You don't like me, do you? I mean, it's kinda hard to tell," he said, layering on the sarcasm. He'd found the responses to heavy sarcasm amusing, and had started using it more often.

Star looked ready to run over and strangle him, actually. On the other hand, Zion seemed rather amused. The green-haired boy lifted his staff, slinging it over his shoulders and resting his wrists on it. "She doesn't like many people. Me, Arietta, and Reighn, basically."

"And Reighn abandoned us..." Star muttered.

"He did not..." Zion stopped, let out a huff, and shook his head, clearly not up to arguing with her anymore. Green eyes rose to meet Dark's mismatched green and gold, and Zion sighed. "I wanted to at least meet you, anyway. I..." He stopped here, a moment of insecurity vanishing under an angry mask.

There was a soft growl as Koran stepped out of the shadows. Star swung around, puppet clearly at the ready, but Koran didn't even bother to look at her, instead stepping up to Zion and gently nudging his head into the boy's side.

"You're upset."

Zion hesitated, but he dropped one hand from his staff and petted Koran's head. "...You're a lot... mellower than Kallig or any of Arietta's brothers."

Koran snorted, pulled away gently, and padded over to Dark.

"Eastern ligers usually _are_ mellower than Southern ligers," Dark admitted. "If you have a chance, try wandering around above the Archives a little. The entrance is in neutral territory between the two clans. So long as you don't threaten them, the Easterners won't mind you paying them a visit. The Southerners... well. That depends on how much of Arietta's scent you're still carrying. She's one of theirs, so that makes you pack, but only if they can still smell it. If they can't... Well."

"So, probably don't wander too far south on my own, since Arietta's not supposed to know I'm in Rugnica," Zion said. Dark nodded, though that comment brought a frown to his expression.

"Arietta doesn't know about... this?" The adoption, being in Rugnica, being _here_...

Zion shook his head. "You'll figure it out soon enough, I'm sure," he said. A pause, and then a glance at Star. A deep breath. "Mohs replaced me with a replica, after poisoning me for _months_."

Oh... _Oh_...

Dark took a deep breath, slipping his guns into their holsters. He knew why they were here now. And if he _didn't_ put the guns away, he was going to hurt someone and regret it later. "Bastard."

"I take it you don't like him much," Zion said, the faintest hints of a smile on his lips. Well, if it could be called a smile.

Dark growled out a string of curses. "One day, he will get his comeuppance. And I will laugh."

Zion shot him a smirk. It was dark, and angry, and held a promise in it that Dark couldn't help but return, even as the green-haired boy took a step back, clearly intending to leave.

"I guess I'll see you around... brother."


	8. Black Stars Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark is fourteen. This takes place fairly shortly before Kairi gets dropped in Keterburg.

Rain was, to put it simply, an extremely rare occurrence for Keterburg. It usually just snowed. And, in some parts—namely, the mountains and the forests further north of where Dark lived, it _was_ snowing.

But Keterburg was getting _rain_. And, due to the fact that he didn't live _that_ far outside town, so was Dark.

"I'm not sure I like this rain," Dark said rather mildly to himself as he tugged at his hood again. He'd left Koran at home, after all. The liger put up with the snow, but the rain would soak through his fur a lot faster and would just make him colder. At least Dark's clothes were better weather-proofed, if a little less warm.

"Do you often talk to yourself?"

Anyone listening in would have thought he was _literally_ talking to himself, but Dark knew better. He hadn't said a single word.

He spun around, one hand reaching for a gun, but between the rain-slick snow and mud and the sudden weight that crashed into him, he never got a chance.

It would be just his luck that he would find the only rock in the area with the back of his head when Danté decided a flying tackle was a good alternative to trying to shoot him. And, indeed, it was Danté currently leaned over him, knees to either side of Dark's waist and hands pinning down his arms.

Black stars danced across his vision, and Dark knew that was a bad sign even without the reading he'd done on healing. After all, what was the use of being a seventh fonist if you didn't know what you were doing healing?

"So... Where's your little housecat?"

Dark growled. "Go play with a mandrake."

Danté chuckled. "I already am. Ooh, is that blood I see in the snow? Did you discover a rock?"

The water and mud was _freezing_. That was probably the only good part about this, Dark mused. He had an icepack on the back of his head already.

Mind, he wasn't sure how he felt about the mud and his obvious head wound, but—

Danté growled and whacked him on the head. "Are you ignoring me?!"

Dark just barely managed to choke down the whimper of the rock digging further into his skull. "Trying to."

That was probably not the best thing to say to an angry Danté, he mused. Because his original had a temper, and at the moment, Dark was at a serious disadvantage.

Danté sneered, but pushed himself up off of Dark.

He took advantage of the chance to get his head away from that damn—

Danté kicked him hard in the ribs. Didn't manage to break anything, thankfully, but it didn't change the fact that it hurt, and Dark twisted, curling in on himself and raising his arms to protect his head. There was no telling how long Danté was going to stick around before walking away.

That was, assuming Danté walked away this time. Oh, he'd done it many times in the past, left Dark to die, but he'd never stuck around to be sure.

That was the only reason Dark was still alive. He knew it, and he didn't like it, but it didn't stop him from hoping this time would be no different. If Danté would just walk away...

"So, is this where you've been holed up all these years, _replica_? Up here, hiding out in the snow... Hiding in plain sight."

Dark curled up tighter, refusing to answer that. Danté had found him all the way out here, not too terribly far from Keterburg... He could only hope that meant his original didn't actually know where he lived. That little cabin was everything he had, all he could call _his_ and not have to surrender to someone else. (Well, other than Koran.)

The shivers were hard to ignore, though, and Dark finally realized Danté's plan this time around. Oh, no. Danté wasn't going to kill him himself. No, he was going to let nature take its course.

Dark had maybe four more minutes before the hypothermia set in. At that point, it was unlikely he'd be able to survive on his own. He would need help, and help would cost money and draw attention, and he really didn't like either.

Danté knelt again, pressing a warm hand to Dark's neck, and the fact that his hand felt _warm_ when he'd been out in this cold as long as Dark was damning enough. His body temperature was dropping.

His original snorted, stood, and walked away. "Goodbye, Dark. I wonder if your kitten's going to miss you."

Dark clenched his jaw and waited for the faint sloshing sound of Danté's footsteps to fade. Then, gently, ever so gently, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Those same black stars came back, dancing across his vision and threatening to steal away his lunch. He hadn't had dinner yet, and was suddenly grateful for it. He was having enough trouble holding his stomach already; having _more_ food in there would definitely not have been helpful.

He was shivering, far more than he had since he was barely a year old, and even then, it had been terror driving him, not cold. He barely made it to a tree before the stars started threatening to take over his entire field of vision.

With a whimper, he slipped and fell back to the ground. The wet snow had completely soaked his clothes by this point. He was cold, his fingers were turning blue, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep.

"Dark...? Dark!"

He knew that growl...

"Koran?"

A gray face dropped in front of his eyes, brown eyes meeting his. "Dark...? Can you stand? Can you get on my back?"

...Could he? He wasn't sure anymore. He couldn't walk. He'd barely made it to the... no, he was still a foot away from the tree.

"Dark!"

He couldn't fight against the cold any longer. Maybe... maybe this time Danté had done it, huh? Maybe... this time... he wouldn't have to... keep fighting...


	9. Black Stars Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, this chapter and the later parts of Part 2 of Re:A Ripple in the Abyss happen at the same time. :) Kairi didn't notice Koran sneaking around after her while she wandered around trying to kill monsters all by her lonesome.

Dark stretched and groaned when he felt the twinges in his back. It had been two months since he'd spent almost an entire month laid up with hypothermia and a mild concussion, but that didn't mean his body had fully recovered.

It was probably going to be another few months before he got to that point, really, and as annoying as the thought was, it didn't change the fact that he was aching.

He sighed and looked up as Koran plodded back in. "Hey. You have fun following the idiot?" he asked, remembering the orange-haired woman they'd seen earlier.

"She's not an idiot, Dark," Koran said.

He gave his partner a wry smile, then shook his head. "She's running around up here fighting monsters by herself, and she's clearly not used to that blade, although I'll admit she's not entirely new to it, either. So, what is she if not an idiot?"

"Strong. Determined to be stronger. Lost. She smells... other. Of places we've never been, things we've never seen. She's... interesting."

He rolled his eyes, not quite willing to give Koran the benefit of the doubt on this one. "If you insist."

"I do. I also know we have company coming."

And that got him alert in an instant. "How unfriendly?"

"Hard to tell. Order of Lorelei."

Dark picked up his guns, loading both with bullets and then slipping them into their holsters. He was suddenly glad he hadn't removed the holsters yet. He was going to need them. Order of Lorelei was usually _not_ a good sign. Mohs hated his guts for some reason, and frankly, Dark didn't like him much, either.

He settled in on the rug in front of the fire. He didn't have a whole lot of furniture, but it never bothered him before. He had what he needed, and even though he _did_ have a bed hidden back behind a partition, he ended up sharing Koran's nest more often than not.

It was more comfortable there.

The knock on his door was... not unexpected, but a tad unusual. He glanced up, then looked back at Koran. Then, taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and walked over to the door before opening it.

Purple met his eyes. Purple and brown. A single bright gold eye, a lighter color than his own, met his eyes levelly, despite the fact that the woman in front of him had to be four inches taller and twice his age.

"Can I help you?" he asked evenly.

She nodded. "I think you might be able to. I'm looking for Daemione?"

Dark watched her for a moment, before shifting back and letting the door open a little further, a quiet invitation. "You found him. What do you want?"

"Are you usually this blunt?"

"I'm not usually approached personally, and even when I am, this is the first time I've had anyone knocking on my door," Dark admitted, though he was rather cross about the whole thing. How long had the Order known he was here? "And, if you'll pardon a little more bluntness, I don't usually do business with the Order. Something about Mohs and replicas." That was the common story, at least. The real story? ...Honestly, Dark didn't have a clue. Mohs wanted him dead.

"Funny you should mention him. I have a proposition for you, regarding the Grand Maestro."

Dark paused, then turned and leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, giving Cantabile—because there was no one the woman could be _but_ the God-General in charge of the sixth division—his full attention. Despite the fact that Koran seemed to still be sleeping in the corner, Dark could tell she had _his_ full attention as well.

"And who is this proposition coming from?" he asked.

Cantabile looked vaguely amused. "Dorian General Grants feels that Mohs is getting in his way. We have... plans. Plans that we intend to set into motion in the next few months. We need Mohs to... _not_ interfere," she told him. Her stance said she was telling the truth, as did her voice. Her lone visible eye (the other was hidden behind an eye patch, and from the scar he could see extending over it, he could understand why) said she wasn't telling him _everything_ , though.

He crossed his arms and considered this. She was asking him to assassinate the Grand Maestro of the Order of Lorelei, just so that Mohs wouldn't be in Van's way.

The Grand Maestro.

 _Not_ the Fon Master? Not the one who held the ultimate power in Daath?

Ah, but the 'Ion' in power right now wasn't actually in control, was he? He was a replica, little more than a figurehead, and Mohs had all of the actual power.

No wonder Van wanted to be rid of him. Still, that did raise the question...

"What's in it for me?"

Cantabile looked amused. "A quarter of a million gald and the reassurance that, as a replica, you'll have a place in what we're doing when we're done."

A quarter of a million—That was more gald than he'd made in the last _year_ , and never mind that his buffer was completely _gone_ from the month he'd spent recovering from Danté's last attack!

It was very, _very_ hard to keep the shock out of his expression. All he wanted to do was gape, because that sort of money...

That sort of money would hold him over for an entire year.

A full year, not having to kill, not having to chase down more jobs. And he was turning fifteen (physically) in a few months, he could legally join the Kimlascan military academy, and that money would be enough to pay the entrance fees. If he could just keep on top of his classes, that would get him enough credit for school loans...

He'd decided against joining the Order because of the very man he was now being asked to kill. He was still iffy on joining the Kimlascan military, actually. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to be a soldier, still wasn't sure he was ready to pick himself and Koran up and move, but...

He could make up his mind later. And what she'd said about replicas... he wasn't sure what she'd meant, but he would figure it out later, too.

"What kind of a time frame am I looking at?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone neutral.

Cantabile shrugged. "Preferably? Within the month. We want to have a little time to let things settle from Mohs before Van sets things into motion in the new year."

That gave him about five weeks. That was plenty of time to plan, but then... "How likely is Mohs to find out you came here?"

A golden eye rose toward... Mt. Roneal. There wasn't a window in that wall, but that was the direction of the mountain. "I came along with Sync for the annual inspection on Mt. Roneal. Sync's up doing his part, and we're heading back to Daath shortly. He _shouldn't_ catch on, but Arietta's not exactly known for keeping her mouth shut, and she and Sync do talk on occasion, being of similar ages and slightly less likely to try to kill each other than, say, Sync and Asch."

"So Sync knows why you're really here. Do any of the other God-Generals?" he asked. He wasn't worried about most of them—their loyalties were to Van first, and anyone else second.

Most of them, at least.

Dist's loyalties were... fluid. Oh, he certainly acted on whatever orders he was given from Van, but he also acted under Mohs' orders, or for his own interests. He simply didn't _care_ who or what he worked for, just so long as he wasn't bored.

And that... was exactly what Dark was afraid of.

Cantabile sighed. "At the moment, no. My orders came straight from Van. That said... There's no guarantee it will stay that way for long. I told Sync not to tell anyone, but if it gets into Dist's ear..."

"I see we're on the same page," Dark mused. "Alright. I'll head to Daath pretty quickly, then. I don't want word getting back to Mohs. Much as I hate to admit it, he's smart. He'll try to get me killed if I walk in there unprepared."

Cantabile nodded an acknowledgement. "Then we have an accord?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes. Who am I meeting for payment, and where?"

She hummed. "I'm not sure. Largo, probably. I'll be off on another assignment within the week, knowing how my schedule's been, which means Van will have to bring someone else in on it. I might suggest Sync, actually, since he already knows about this, but Largo usually has... Hm..."

"A level head?" Dark guessed. Sync was pretty infamous for being a bit of a brat, especially around Arietta or Asch. Not that Asch was officially a God-General. He did tend to hang around them, and the rumor mill said he was Van's apprentice, meant to be taking over as Commandant when Van decided to retire.

(Whenever that would be. Personally, Dark didn't believe much of that, but he'd have to wait and see how things panned out.)

"Yes," Cantabile conceded, though the smirk she wore said she had something to do with Sync's temper. "As for where... Daath Bay. It's not unusual for one of us to be hanging around, either keeping an eye out for trouble makers, or just avoiding the actual city. No one will think it odd that there's a God-General standing around off-duty."

Dark nodded. Fair enough. "Alright, then. I should start making plans." He held out a hand, and wasn't surprised when Cantabile shook it. She wasn't exactly the most feminine of women.

"I'm looking forward to hearing about it," the purple-haired God-General said. "I'll let myself out, then."

Dark watched her go quietly, waiting until he was quite certain she was gone before he looked over at Koran. "...Is it worth the risk?" he asked. "I'm not sure if that was genuine or not. It... I can't help but feel like it's a trap."

Koran raised his massive gray head from where it had been laying across his paws and stared at the door, brown eyes oddly unfocused. "I'm not sure, either."

Dark sighed. Great. An unknown.

His eyes drifted from the door, to the mountain north of them, and then to the fire still crackling warmly in its hearth. "I'll decide tomorrow," he declared. "It's late."

Koran growled out a soft chuckle, and shifted in his nest. "Rest waits for us."

Dark smiled to his partner, removing the holsters from his legs and laying them and the guns next to the nest. Easily accessible, but not in his way. He was already barefoot, having taken his boots off earlier, and as he curled up against Koran and pulled the blanket over both, he couldn't help but sigh.

He wasn't quite happy with his life as it was, no, but... Maybe, just maybe, this would be the turning point.

Something was in the air. Something was going to _change_.

Good or bad, he would take it.


	10. Black Stars Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then we pick up right where we left off in Chapter 1. :)  
> Until next time, toodles~

"You know, falling asleep in the snow would not be a good idea."

Dark rolled his eyes. "Done that before, thanks. I'd rather not do it again."

There was a long pause as Ryndor watched him warily, before the redhead sighed and clambered to his feet. "Well, I'm going back inside. I'm going to freeze out here, and I'm wearing thicker clothes than you are."

Dark frowned as he began to notice the cold, himself. He'd been pretty numb all evening... It was going on midnight now, and the snow hadn't yet let up. There was a pretty thick layer all around him, and the only reason _he_ wasn't covered in snow was because he kept shaking it off, or it kept melting into his uniform.

...He was _soaked_ , actually.

He sighed and got to his feet as well, following Ryndor back over to the ledge they'd likely both used to get up to the roof. His landing was a little rough, proof of the numbness in his legs, and Dark took a single glance at the door that was still closed tight down the hallway before he turned and headed for the bathroom. He needed a warm shower and a change of clothes, and probably something to eat and or drink, seeing as he'd been up there for hours.

The hot water chased away all of the numbness, pinpricks like a thousand needles taking its place, and Dark hissed at the slight pain.

"That was stupid."

He glanced down at the Clockwork Fox that sat next to the shower, not quite on a plane of existence where she could _do_ something, but solid enough to be seen. He'd have found it awkward for her to be staring at him like this, when he wore nothing but the scars of his past, but a shower certainly wasn't the worst thing she'd ever walked in on.

He was pretty sure the night she'd interrupted had been the night his child had been conceived, actually. The timing lined up, and he and Natalia had both been so busy in the weeks before and after that they'd hardly had any time for each other.

He finished up his shower without a word to Eraia. He knew she was right. Sitting in the snow for three hours hadn't been a good idea. But he hadn't been able to stand waiting around in the manor any longer.

Dark had only just gotten changed into dry, casual clothes when a frantic knocking started at the bathroom door.

"Get your butt out here!"

And, that was Badaq yelling at him, so that meant he was either about to be killed, or...

Or, it was finally over, and the midwives had opened the door to the birthing room.

Dark had a feeling it was the latter, and had the door opened a moment later. Badaq was out of uniform as well, but really, it wasn't surprising to see anymore. The man had taken a leave of absence from the Order when it became obvious that Dark wasn't going to be getting his paternity leave until the last minute, and had been around the manor to help Natalia with the work she'd been unable to keep up with as their child demanded more of her energy.

The fact that Badaq had stepped out of his way immediately was another big hint, and Dark took off running down the hallway. Natalia had been in labor for _hours_ , and then the midwives had kicked him out, and—

He was a father.

It hadn't quite hit him until he stood in the doorway of the room, looking in on his beautiful wife, who had a crying green-wrapped bundle in her arms, that they were having a child.

A daughter. They'd made up their minds months ago to let it be a surprise what gender the child would be. But they'd agreed on one thing—no little girl of theirs was going to be wrapped up in pink until she could look at the color and wrap herself up in it. Blue for a boy.

Green for a girl.

Natalia looked up as the last of the three midwives left, and hazel eyes met mismatched gold and green.

She smiled weakly, but he could see the fear in her eyes. How many times had she asked him how he felt about the baby in the last few months?

How many times had he been unable to give her an answer?

But right now... Right now, as he made his way over to the bed on shaky legs, terrified and amazed and so completely drowned by the love he felt for the two girls in that bed...

Dark sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a bit of golden hair away from Natalia's forehead. She was clearly exhausted, but still sitting up, still holding their baby girl...

A sound like a hiccup drew his eyes to the tiny newborn, and he couldn't help but grin when he saw the black tufts of hair that curled around her head. "She's beautiful."

"She is," Natalia whispered, still seemingly out of breath. "Did you have a name figured out, or...?"

Dark gently reached out and ran his fingers over their daughter's head, the soft black curls tickling his fingers. Eraia jumped up onto the bed on Natalia's other side, padding over, but not solid enough to have any actual weight.

Natalia gave his sunstone necklace a pointed look, and he wrapped a hand around it and _pulled_ on the Energies, tugging Eraia fully into this plane. The Clockwork Fox shook herself lightly, the faint clinking of metal sounding more like bells than anything actually mechanical. She put one forepaw on Natalia's leg and gently lifted herself up, sniffing at the baby girl's head.

Their daughter turned her head to look at the fox, and for a long few moments, the two stared at each other.

It was then, watching his daughter watching his partner, that a name came to him.

"Coralline."

Blue-gray eyes, still not settled into the color they would be later in her life, shifted from the fox to him, and he smiled, even as the clock struck midnight and the bells in the city rang out.

"Good morning, Coralline Sylvia Daemione."

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed this wreck of a side-story? Have a poll and let me know who you want to see next! http://www.strawpoll.me/18989164


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